Mikkal, Book 1: Shellshocked
by Snake Doctor
Summary: REWRITTEN 6/6/2012: Everyone knows the story of Hearthglen. It was part of the first decisive strike of the Scourge campaign through Lordaeron and the beginning of Prince Arthas' dark path. But how do you think Joe Civilian reacted when undead monsters began breaking through his front door?
1. Prologue

The wagon rushed along the road, moving faster than common sense dictated. Normally, pelting rain and the dark of night would drive travelers to seek shelter and wait out the storm. But the drivers' mission was urgent, and the horses were frightened. A sickly-sweet smell permeated the air around the wagon, pungent even under the rain. The horses did not like the smell, and were doing the best their primitive animal minds could to get away from it. They smelled disease, filth, and death following them. And so they ran.

The driver snapped the reins for the fifth time that night, pushing the horses faster. His companion glared at him. "You're going to kill the horses!" he shouted, straining to be heard over the thundering hooves and rain.

"You know the master's orders!" the driver shouted back. "This delivery must be made tonight!"

His partner pulled his hood low to shield his face. Both men were wearing long black robes, marked with purple runes. The runes glowed with a sinister dark light. Behind them, in the carriage's bed, sat eight barrels, lashed down to keep them from bouncing about. "We still have time," the second man growled. "But if the horses wear out then we definitely won't make it!"

"Where is your faith, brother?" The driver looked at him. "Our mission will not fail."

"If you're so sure about that," said his partner, "then stop whipping the damn horses!"

The driver lashed out at the horses, urging them onward. The beasts were frothing at the mouth. Most of the water on their bodies was sweat. His partner reached over and yanked the reins from the driver's hands. He quickly pulled them up, halting the horses. Their sides heaved in and out as they struggled to catch their breaths. The driver glared at his partner again, who tucked the reins away. "You err, brother."

"No, brother, it is you who err." The man glared back. "We will let the horses rest for a moment. Then we will continue."

"No!" Now the driver's mouth was covered with foam. "We must continue! The master demands it!"

His partner jumped from the carriage and walked towards the horses. He unfastened them from their harnesses and led them off the road under a nearby grove of trees. There the horses grazed hungrily, pausing only to lick water from the grass. "We rest," the man said.

The driver was beside himself. "You fool! Don't you see? This storm was sent to test us! The master wishes to know which of his followers are the most devout!" His hood fell from his head. The driver had long, graying hair, which was strange, since he obviously was in his early twenties. His skin was pale, and his eyes bulged wide. Veins widened across his forehead. "Don't you see, brother?" he asked again. "The master needs us!"

"The master is all powerful, brother, and has waited decades for this day." his partner said calmly. "He can afford to wait a few hours more."

The driver screamed in rage. "You will lead us away from the blessing the master promises! You lead us to damnation!"

His partner shrugged.

The driver jumped to the ground and drew a dagger from his cloak. "I am a loyal follower," he muttered darkly. "You have betrayed the master's trust. You do not deserve the master's blessing, the gift of all gifts."

His partner stood calmly, arms hanging at his sides. With a wicked grin the driver ran towards him, thrusting the dagger towards his partner's chest. The road was suddenly lit with a green light, startling the horsed. When the light faded, the wagon driver lay dead on the ground, still grinning.

His partner crossed his arms and sighed. "Guess the Cult of the Damned lets anyone in these days." He kicked the driver's leg lightly. "Shame."

He shook water from his robes and tucked his hands in his sleeves. The horses had taken shelter under a nearby tree. He went to join them and sat against the tree trunk, smiling slightly. Behind him, one of the horses snorted and gave the carriage a wary glance. Lightning shot across the sky, fully illuminating the cart and its cargo.


	2. One Happy Family

Malles leapt on top of the stump and surveyed my battlefield. The nefarious orcs were regrouping along the hill over yonder. The brutes snarled and roared, swinging their axes through the air as they called for his blood. But they were no match for Malles Mikkal, the most powerful paladin to ever bless the ranks of the Silver Hand.

Malles jumped down and charged them all. One hundred orcs raced towards him. One hundred orcs would die this day. He was fearless, running straight through their ranks. His mighty blade hacked them apart, scattered arms and legs and heads all around him. The weapon glowed with holy enchantments, empowered by the Light itself. Malles raised his palm and fired bolts of holy magic into the fleeing orcs. Malles was going to chase their craven green hides into the dark caves they called home, and fight all the way up their evil warchief and –

"Malles!"

Malles tripped, and rolled headfirst into the side of the toolshed. He righted himself and sat up, rubbing his aching head. "What, Jen?"

Jensine laughed and grinned at me. "Whatcha doin'?"

Malles scowled. "None of your business."

Jensine walked up to me. "You haven't been playing with Papa's axe, have you?"

"No –"

"Because you _know_ what Mama said." She held up her finger, like she always did when quoting the house rules. "Mama said at your age playing is unhealthy, and that you're nearly a man now and you have no time for playing. Mama said that you could hurt yourself, and if you have time for playing you have time for chores."

Malles stood up. He and Jensine were standing behind their family's household, in the yard where most of the household chores were done. A chopping block stood in the corner, next to a pile of wood. A clothesline was strung across it. The yard was surrounded by a fence that connected directly to the walls of the house.

The house itself was a single-floor dwelling, with only four rooms total. On either side there were other houses, mostly built the same way. In the peasant town of Hearthglen, there were few wealthy families. In fact, the only resident that could be considered rich was the town governor, Taelan Fordring, who lived in Mardenholde Keep, a small castle that overlooked the entire town from the hill above it.

Malles lived in the house with his parents and younger sister. Jensine turned sixteen a little over a month ago. She was a short girl with long, flowing black hair, which both she and our mother were extremely proud of. Some mornings Mom goes on and on about all the men Jen would attract while combing her hair while I fantasize about cutting it all off. Jen's eyes were a deep shade of green, and freckles dotted her always-smiling mouth. Their mother, Marley Mikkal, thought Jensine looked like a younger version of Lady Menethil. Malles thought she looked like a hyperactive frog.

"Don't you have someone else to annoy?" Malles asked her irritably.

Jen's eyes dropped to the blade at Malles' side. "Not really," she said with a smirk. Malles hated that smirk. That was the look that got him into trouble.

The weapon in question was a large double-edge hatchet their father, Robert "Bobby" Mikkal wielded during the Second War, when the orcish Horde invaded the kingdom of Lordaeron after their triumphant sacking of Stormwind and assassination of King Wrynn. Bobby Mikkal, himself nineteen at the time, used his father's blacksmithing forge to make the axe and fought against the Horde for Lordaeron. Malles was proud of his father, and at a younger age often sat at the fireplace the axe was stored over, staring up at it and thinking about the dozens of orcs that had died underneath the sharp blade. But the axe was not your typical woodcutting hatchet. It was a weapon of war, and after Bobby had beaten Malles raw for taking it down Malles had been told not to touch it for any reason.

But the impish boy had never been known for his abilities to follow orders. Malles tried to hide it behind him, but it was too late. "You know you're not allowed to touch Papa's sword!" Jensine's eyes lit up. "He beat you so hard last time. Ooooh, when I tell him –"

"Don't you dare."

" – he's going to hit you harder than that time you slapped Tammy from across the street in the face!"

Malles kicked a dirt clod at her. It sailed through the air and exploded against Jensine's tunic. It was a small wad of dirt, but it left a large rust-colored stain across Jensine's chest. She glared at him. "Momma made that for me! Now you're in _really_ big trouble!"

Malles was at her side in an instant. "Jenny-Jen," he said. "Let's be too hasty. How 'bout a deal?"

Jensine blinked up at him. Malles was turning seventeen the next day. He was tall for his age and very broad shouldered. Their father was the town's resident blacksmith. Malles often helped his father craft his wares, mainly hunting rifles and farming equipment, as well as blades for the local militia. Sometimes Malles helped Bobby mine materials from the mountains. The rigorous work had toughened Malles considerably. Most of his body was made up of rippling muscle. Often the girls in town would come to watch him as he crafted tools and weapons, working shirtless to stay cool. Bobby didn't mind, and even encouraged the gawking; the girls were always accompanied by their fathers, uncles, or older brothers, the Mikkals' target customers.

"What deal?"

Malles leaned in close and whispered in Jen's ear, "Dad paid me yesterday. So if you keep your mouth shut, I might buy you that doll you wanted."

Jen squealed. "The one in Mrs. Rudy's shop? Oh she's so pretty, with her little dress and…"

She rattled on, but Malles didn't care. He knew he had won. Eventually, he cut her off by placing a finger on her mouth. "Come on. Let's go to town."

"Jensine Mikkal!"

Malles moved like greased lightning, throwing himself down on top of the axe as Marley stepped outside. She looked mad. "Get inside right now! You're supposed to be helping me make dinner."

"But, Mama –"

"I don't want to hear it, Jensine!" Marley grabbed Jen by her forearm and dragged her through the back door. "If you have time for playing, then you have time for working! Just look at you, covered in dust, what have you been doing…"

Malles leaned against the wall, smiling. He loved when Jen got in trouble. Such a nice change from the norm –

"Oh, Malles." Marley poked her head back outside. "Your father said he'd be done with work around this hour, so you need to get ready."

"Okay." He checked to make sure the axe was still hidden from view. "Where's my bow?"

"In the closet, hon, where it always is. You should grab the rifle, too, Dad wants you to meet him at the shop."

"No problem." Malles waited for her to leave, then picked up the axe. He peeked inside, watching her. When her back was turned, he snuck into the sitting room and placed the axe back over the fireplace. When Marley turned back around, Malles had Bobby's rifle slung over his shoulder and was stringing his bow. Malles grinned at her, making her smile. Behind her stood Jen, face scrubbed raw and holding a set of dinner dishes. She stuck her tongue out at him. Malles' grin extended to his ears.

* * *

The carriage clanked down the stone road, slowly but surely. Traffic was horrible this time of day, as all the laborers and apprentices went home to eat their dinner with their families. But the driver was not concerned. He was in no rush to get to his location. He was a town resident, so he knew the local streets well. The horses remained nervous, but he was used to that. They had been skittish since he set out from Andorhal the previous night. Nothing to worry about, though. Everything was going the way it should.

He continued down the road, taking a right at the mayor's mansion. A couple meters past it the road branched off into the property of the local granary. Here was where Hearthglen received its shipments of grain from the neighboring towns and cities. Hearthglen's population was mostly made up of the lower social class of the kingdom of Lordaeron. The bread this granary produced provided them all with a constant source of cheap and filling food. Bread was used in many of the peasants' dishes, and managed to find its way onto household tables every meal. Often the cheap bread was all that stood between the poor locals and starvation. Bread was the lifeblood of Hearthglen.

The driver laughed to himself. He could practically smell the irony. Tonight would be entertaining, no doubt about that.

The horses pulled the wagon up to a loading dock. The driver jumped down and unhitched the horses, leading them away from the wagon and towards the nearby stables. The horses offered no resistance. They wanted to get as far away from the wagon as possible. He handed the reins to the stable boy. "Take good care of them, will you? We had a rough journey last night."

The boy nodded. "I'm sure you did, sir. That was a bad storm, wasn't it?"

The driver smiled. "Yes, it was." He tossed the boy a gold piece. "Give them the best stalls you have available, my boy."

The boy pocketed it. "Yes, sir!" He took hold of the reins and took the horses inside.

The driver walked back to his carriage. He opened up the back of it. Inside were the eight barrels of grain, still lashed to the carriage walls. He climbed inside and began unloading the barrels. As he worked, one of the granary workers came up to him. "We've got people that can do that for you, if you'd like."

The driver unloaded his last barrel and jumped down. "I'd prefer to do it myself. Make sure it's not damaged."

The worker handed him a clipboard. "It's grain, buddy. Not dwarven jewelery."

The driver took the clipboard and pulled a lead pencil from one of the pockets in his robe. He signed on the line and handed it back to the worker. "True. But I don't need the granary breaking open a barrel and saying it was damaged during transit. You know how it is."

The worker nodded. "I hear you. Just covering your ass." He laughed. "Which is a smart thing to do these days. All those recent taxes…people are starting to get mad. They're looking for ways to make quick money."

The driver scowled. "I don't know what the crown was thinking. Putting orcs in internment camps? That's why they tax us so badly, because they can't afford to maintain them. We should just execute all the orcs. People remember the First and Second Wars. I can't see orcs beating us and leaving us alive."

"I know, right?" The two men stood and talked for a while, discussing the damage the new taxes were causing. "My wife wonders where all my pay goes," the worker complained. "And so do I. Surely the camps can't cost that much. Not unless the filthy things breed like rabbits."

The driver shook his head. "My wife talks about moving down south to Dalaran, or maybe even Menethil Harbor. Out of Lordaeron. But we can't afford the trip."

"Shame." The worker looked up at the sun. It has starting to move towards the west. "My shift should be over soon. You heading out after this, or staying a while?"

The driver smiled. "I might be tempted to stay the night. Why don't we go out for a couple drinks? My treat."

"Sure." The worker picked up a barrel. "The Rooster has a decent selection. You know where that is?"

The driver nodded. "You want to meet there after you get off?"

"Yep. Might bring the wife along. Otherwise she won't let me go."

"That's women for you." The two men laughed and went their separate ways. The driver walked back down towards the town, a small smile on his face.


	3. First Contact

Malles hid himself behind an oak tree upon spying his target. The buck was grazing just down the hill, back facing him. Malles turned around and motioned franticly. Bobby carefully made his way through the brush towards him, dwarven rifle slung over his shoulder. Malles pointed around the tree. "Found one," he whispered.

Bobby was taller than even Malles, and much better built. Bobby held a finger up to his lips, making Malles turn red. Malles was nearing an age that many considered the age of manhood. Bobby had been taking Malles out on hunting trips with him since last year. But Malles was not very good. He was a horrible shot with his bow, and moved with the stealth and grace of a pained grizzly bear. But Bobby was patient with him, and corrected every mistake Malles made with fatherly advice.

Bobby began drawing his rifle, but Malles grabbed hold of it, stopping him. Malles pointed to the buck, then to himself. "Me," he mouthed.

Bobby paused. Most of the wild game had left the area, for an unknown reason. As a result, the Mikkals' coffers of meat were getting alarmingly low. Summer was ending, and autumn's were notoriously short this far north. The winter snows could be brutal. Every year in Hearthglen more than one family succumbed to the cold, ill-prepared for the coming weather. This may be one of their last hunting trips before the Mikkals shut themselves up in their home for the winter. If Malles didn't make the kill, the family would be hard pressed for food.

But Malles was eager. Malles wanted to be a warrior like his father, to join the army of Lordaeron and take arms against the orc bands still terrorizing the local towns. Bobby encouraged this goal as much as he could. Despite his strict orders concerning the weapon, he had trained Malles on how to use his old war axe, and Malles showed a great talent in wielding it. Bobby knew of Malles' little escapades with the axe, but often overlooked them, for he was secretly proud of his son's motivations. Malles deserved this chance.

Bobby nodded at Malles. He stepped back, giving Malles room to draw back the bow string. Malles smiled wide and turn back to the buck. It was grazing peacefully, eating leaves off the forest floor. Malles notched his arrow and aimed for the buck's heart. Malles took in a breath, exhaled, and fired.

The arrow sailed through the air, striking right on target. The frightened animal tried to flee, but it was only able to take a couple steps before collapsing to the ground. Malles was up and moving the moment the buck hit the dirt. He drew a knife and ran up to the dying buck. With a quick slash he cut the animal's throat, giving it a quick death.

"You didn't have to do that." Bobby walked up behind him. "The arrow pierced his heart. That's a mortal wound."

Malles looked up at his father. "But he looked like he was in pain."

Bobby frowned as he drew a skinning knife. "Of course he was. He had an arrow in his side."

Malles stood. "I just didn't want him to suffer."

Bobby looked at him for a moment. Then he smiled and handed him the knife. "Clean it. And make it quick, it'll be dark soon."

Malles took the knife and went to work. Bobby watched him, directing his cuts. Malles soon had the hide off the buck, and Bobby helped him remove the meat and pack it away. They both had brought packs for transporting the meat. When they were done, Bobby shouldered his pack and patted Malles on the shoulder. "Nice job, this will feed us for weeks."

Malles grinned. "Maybe we should try and grab a rabbit or two?"

Bobby shook his head. "Your mother and Jen should have supper ready by now. Let's not keep them waiting."

Father and son began making their way back home. They always went and hunted up in the hills behind the town, around the same area where they mined mithril and thorium for the blacksmithing shop. It was far from where the people of Hearthglen usually hunted, down south towards Andorhal. Bobby wanted no competition for his family's food. Game was becoming noticeably scarce. People blamed that on the rumored plague that was supposed to be sweeping through northern Lordaeron, but Bobby didn't believe them. If there truly was a plague, the king's men would have acted on it by now. The capital city was full of priests and paladins who were more than capable of using their holy magic to cleanse any plague from the land. Bobby's guess was an overabundance of local predators.

Perhaps on their next hunting trip they would shoot for bear. Then Bobby would get to use his prized hunting rifle. And finally teach Malles how to use a real weapon. Bows were for scrawny elves, not upcoming human warriors.

"Dad."

Bobby turned to look at Malles. "What is it?"

Malles was standing still, head tilted to the side. "You hear that?"

Bobby stopped and listened. The sun was setting in the west. This was the time of day when the nocturnal creatures of the forest roused themselves and went about their business of the night. Since it was still summer, the woods were filled with chirping crickets and cicadas, as well as the calls and howls of nighttime predators like the wolves and mountain lions.

Bobby gave his son a confused look. "I don't hear anything."

Malles nodded. "That's the thing. There is _nothing _out here."

Now that Bobby thought about it, he really couldn't hear anything. No wolves. No crickets. The woods were absolutely silent. Bobby could actually hear himself breathing. "That's strange."

"What could cause that?"

The last time something like this happened to Bobby was during the Second War. He was a participant in two major battles. Both times the surrounding wilderness had been absolutely silent, like now. All you could hear were the low murmurs of scared soldiers tricking themselves into being brave and the spellcasters weaving enchantments and blessings over those soldiers. Those had been the most unnerving times of Bobby Mikkal's life. When he asked his fellows about it, an elven ranger told him the animals had either fled the area or had gone deep into their burrows to hide. Animals, the ranger said, had instinctive feelings that sentient beings often lost or ignored, feelings that told them when something dangerous was within their domain. Even the hungriest and most ferocious predator knew when to duck down and hide. Like when the orcs of the Horde went on the march.

Bobby ran up to Malles and motioned for him to be quiet. He whispered into his ear. "Orcs. Follow me, quickly. No noise."

Malles eyes went wide and he tried to speak, but Bobby clamped a hand over his mouth. "No noise," he repeated. "I need your absolute cooperation. Understand me?" Malles nodded. He looked scared. Good. That meant he'd listen to Bobby. Bobby released Malles and took off through the brush.

Malles followed close behind him, looking around franticly. The lengthening shadows, once used to hide from the deer, now hid possible enemies. Malles often fantasized about fighting orcs, but now that there was possibility he would be fighting real orcs he wished he had stayed home. Malles had heard the stories. Huge, massive orc grunts, wielding weapons as big as grown men, able to cleave an armored footman in half with one swing. The orcs had worshipped demons, drawing power from them as they swept through Stormwind, Lordaeron, and even Quel'thalas, the forested home of the elves, like a green tidal wave. Malles ran faster, struggling to keep up with his father.

* * *

"To good beer!"

The wagon driver laughed raised his glass. "To good beer!"

The granary worker, whose name was Don, drained his mug in three gulps. The driver eyed him with respect. "A chugging master, you are."

Don wiped his mouth and grinned. "And still sober!"

Don had taken up his new friend's offer of free booze and accompanied him to Hearthglen's tavern, The Rooster. The Rooster was known for cheap alcohol, good food, and fine wenches. The drink's flowed freely as Don and the driver sat and conversed, confined to a corner booth away from the rest of the bar residents. It was the driver's suggestion. The door was right next to their table. The Rooster often drew a rowdy crowd; the driver thought it would be wise to have an accessible escape route close by. He drew his robe around him as he sipped his beer.

Don waved a waitress over. "Keep 'em coming, Michelle. Two more!"

"See," the driver said with a chuckle, "this is where your pay goes. No wonder your wife's mad at you."

Don waved his hand disdainfully. "I don't do this often. She has nothing to complain about." The driver noticed that Don's speech was slurring a little. "She's always making me buy her nice dresses and stuff, anyway. I never get to spend money on myself."

The driver raised his mug once more. "To sticking it to the wife!"

Don laughed and accepted the toast. "Aye, but don't get me wrong, now. I love her to pieces."

The driver laughed. "To sticking it _in_ the wife!"

Don snorted into his beer. The driver laughed once more and sipped his beer again. "Is she happy, Don?"

Don smiled. "Aye. Makes me happy, too, that she doesn't care I don't have a glamorous job."

"Nonsense!" The driver leaned forward. "You work at the granary, moving grain to the mills to be made into bread. You, sir, help feed this town!"

Don drank more. "All I do is move boxes."

"Manual labor is nothing to be ashamed of!" the driver said. "Governor Fordring, look at his nice, fancy house. You know what he does for a living? Sits on his ass and talks all day. You actually do something with yourself." The driver nodded at Don. "Look at those bulging arms. That's why your wife's happy, right there."

"Yeah!" Don flexed. "You don't see these on politicians!"

Michelle showed up just then, placing two full mugs on the table. She dropped a basket of buttered bread rolls in front of them as well. "On the house, gents." She nodded at the robed driver. "The manager bids you a good evening, Kirin Tor mage, and hopes you enjoy your stay here."

The driver nodded at her. "Tell him thank you." His eyes ran over her body for a brief moment. "Are you going to be busy later?"

Michelle blushed slightly. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "I'm on break in an hour."

When she left, Don stared at the driver. "How is it you're a mage, yet you're a wagon driver?"

The driver motioned to his rune-covered robes. "Best gold I ever spent, buying these. You'd be amazed how many people will go out of their way to be nice to me."

Don laughed and picked up a roll. "This, right here. This is the fruit of my labor. Right now, families are sitting down to eat bread I helped make."

"I told you," the driver replied. "You help keep people from starving. A hero, you are."

Don laughed again and bit into the bread. "Eat up, my friend. Enjoy my work."

The driver picked up a roll. He shifted it around in his hand, inspecting it. "Is this from the recent shipment?"

"You mean the one you brought in?" Don shook his head. "Nah. The boys at the mill aren't that good. Your shipment won't be processed until later tonight." Don frowned. "Why?"

"Just wondering. " The driver bit into the roll and nodded. "This _is_ good. What do they make it with?"

Don shrugged. "I know they put some kind of herb in it. Then there's the butter, but that's not my department."

The driver laughed and reached into his robe. From his pocket he withdrew a battered wooden box. Don looked at it. "What's that?"

"My dinner." The driver laid the box on the table and opened it. Inside was an apple, a hunk of dried ham, and a loaf of bread. The driver broke the loaf in half and handed it to Don. "This is Andorhal bread. This is what the rich people eat. It's much better than what Hearthglen makes."

Don took the bread and sniffed it. "It smells good, anyway. Kind of sweet-smelling. You put sugar or anything in it?"

The driver shrugged. "I don't make it, I just deliver it. Try some."

Don took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. He swallowed. "I don't taste any difference."

The driver laughed and took out the apple. He bit into it and smiled. "It's the aftertaste that gets you. Just wait a bit and –"

Don suddenly collapsed on the table. He tried to speak, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a watery gurgle and spittle. He reached towards the driver, a pleading look on his face. The driver, still smiling, watched as Don rolled off his chair to the floor. "This man is having a seizure!" the driver yelled. "Someone call a priest!"

The bar patrons all turned around and saw Don rolling on the floor, clutching his throat. But they were simple peasants, without a day of medical training among them. None of them moved towards Don. They only watched as Don's body kicked and jerked, then went still.

After a while, the waitress Michelle plucked up the courage to move towards Don. She tentatively took steps towards him, finally kneeling down next to him. She had tears in her eyes. "Don?"

To her relief, Don sat up with a moan and looked at her. "Don, thank the Light! What hap –"

Don suddenly lunged forward and grabbed her by the hair. In the blink of an eye he pulled her down to him and sank his teeth into her throat. Michelle's screams became gurgles resembling the one's Don made as he bit deeper, finally tearing a large chunk of meat from her neck. The bartender screamed in horror as Don lifted his head and swallowed. The rest of the patrons ran.

Michelle tried to crawl away as her lifeblood spurted out on the wooden floor. She clawed feebly at the wood before dying where she lay. The area around her gaping wound started turning gray. Don turned to the bartender and roared. He leapt over the bar and drove her to the ground, gnawing on her chest.

But the wagon driver did not witness any of this. The moment Don had hit the floor he ran out the door, disappearing into the night.

* * *

Bobby and Malles stopped in front of Hearthglen's main gate, breathing hard. Malles lay his pack on the ground and sat next to it, clutching a stitch in his side. "We made it," he gasped.

"Get up!" Bobby pulled Malles to his feet and handed him his pack. "Put this back on, we're not done yet."

Malles clutched his bag in shock. "You weren't really serious about the orcs, were you?"

"Malles, this isn't a game!" Bobby began pulling him down the road. "This isn't one of your little backyard playtimes. This is real life. I promise you, the orcs will be at this spot at any moment. And if we don't prepare for them, they will burn Hearthglen to the ground."

He finally let him go and handed Malles his meat-laden pack. "Run home, as fast as you can. Tell your mother what has happened and tend to her and your sister. Lock the doors and don't open them until I get there."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"I must speak with Governor Fordring and warn him, to tell him to prepare the militia and send a message to the King." Bobby pointed down the road. "Go, now!"

Malles ran. He didn't know what else to do. Somewhere in the distance he heard screams, and ran faster.


	4. The Scourging Begins

It was a nightmare.

From The Rooster came six of them, villagers just infected by the plague. They charged out into the evening streets and attacked everyone within reach. They did not discriminate. Male or female, old or young, none were safe from their insatiable hunger. For that was what they were after. Every person they attacked was torn apart, ingested in a feeding frenzy. And much to the terrified onlookers' surprise, the victims with relatively intact bodies got back up within minutes, covered in wounds that did not bleed. They joined their killers in the assault, screaming wildly for blood.

The guards were called. They responded quickly, attempting to subdue the attacking villagers. But they quickly realized their error. The town guard was only a militia, a ragtag group of volunteers mostly equipped with weapons that were old even during the Second War. Their armor was rusted chainmail supported by leather and cloth straps. The militia had no formal training, and was undisciplined. The most combat experience any of them had was chasing the occasional bear or cougar away from the village. They were unprepared for something of this magnitude. The situation quickly became a case of every man for himself. The slain guards quickly joined the ranks of their assailants, wielding their rusted weapons against their former comrades.

The attackers were everywhere. They chased the frightened villagers all around Hearthglen. Some just ran tirelessly until they caught up with their prey. Others took great bounding leaps, jumping onto low-story houses and tackling the villagers from above. They were rapidly changing. Their skin became grey and flaky, their teeth and nails grew longer and sharper. Their eyes receded back into their sockets and became balls of red or yellow flame. They spoke no coherent language, only feral snarls and moans. Their victims' cries for mercy went unheeded as the plagued villagers tore into their former friends and family. None were spared.

The terrified villagers ran. The overwhelmed guards soon joined them. They all ran to their homes, to their families, and boarded up their doors. The weeping children were silenced and watched over by their mothers, while the braver family members stood ready by their furniture barricades, armed with whatever makeshift weapons they could find. It was all they could do.

* * *

Bobby ran towards the screams, certain the Horde was attacking. He stopped momentarily to load his rifle and continued on. Villagers ran past him, creating somewhat of an obstacle for him. The villagers swarmed around him, fleeing from the danger. To Bobby's surprise, he could see members of the town militia with them. He scowled. The militia swears to protect the town, yet at the first sign of real danger they turn tail and flee. Bobby made a note to talk to the governor about that.

And just like that, the crowd was gone. He had made it through. The streets were almost deserted. But Bobby could see bodies, all torn apart. _Damn, they breached the wall!_

He brought his hunting rifle into a ready position and crept along the quiet road, hugging the house walls. He could hear movement inside the houses, which brought him some relief. The townspeople weren't all dead then, just hiding. Quietly he ran, peeking around every corner and down every alley. But he could not find any enemies.

He hoped Malles had listened to him and gone straight home. The boy was not ready for the rigors of a life-or-death battle. Bobby doubted Malles would be able to cope. He would need to go through formal military training before he was ready to be a soldier. Right now the best place for Malles was safe at home, watching over his mother and sister.

A sound made him stop. It was a soft scuffle, coming from just around the corner. The road intersected with another a couple yards ahead of him. Bobby slid up next to the nearest building, pressing his back to it. Old combat instincts begin to kick in as he crept along the wall. He waited for a moment, listening, before moving around it, weapon up and at the ready.

It was a woman, drenched in blood. She was kneeling and staring down at the ground, moaning quietly. Her clothes were hanging in tatters around her. She was holding her left arm to her side, trying to stop the blood that ran from it onto the stone pavement. Bobby shouldered his weapon and ran to her.

"What happened?" he asked her.

"Crazies," she muttered. Bobby wasn't sure if she knew he was there. "Drunks. Bit me."

"Crazies?" Bobby reached for her injured arm. Again, she did not acknowledge his presence. "Someone bit you? Where's the Horde?"

"Horde?" The woman finally looked at him. Her eyes were a sick shade of yellow. "Horde?"

Bobby stepped back. "Yes, the Horde! Orcs! Where did they go?"

She cackled. It was an insane and maniacal cackle. The hairs on the back of Bobby's neck stood up. "This was no horde! This was a scourge! The Master calls to me, he whispers to me, he whispers of things that have happened and things still to come. This is a scourge upon humanity, upon the humans who destroyed him years ago. Flee, mortal, flee with your family and survive as long as you can!"

_Yep, Horde._ Her injuries were obviously too much for her to handle. Bobby went back to her side and tried to lay her down. "Ma'am, you are hurt. Let me help you, I am an experienced medic –"

Her eyes bore into his, stunning him into silence. Bobby could not pull himself away from them. In her eyes, he could see no signs of humanity. No fear, no sadness, no pain, none of the emotions she should have been feeling. Her eyes were that of a wild beast. There was a dark look to them, a look full of rage and madness. And hunger.

Bobby saw evil things those eyes. He felt like he was watching this woman lose her very soul.

"This kingdom will fall. And every one of us will die with it."

And with that, she shuddered and lay still.

Bobby stared at her for a moment as she went limp in his arms. The he gently laid her against a nearby wall and moved on.

* * *

Malles checked the windows and door. All were securely latched and locked. There were no signs of danger out on the street or in the yard. Pleased with himself, he propped Bobby's hatchet next to the door and went to check on Marley and Jensine. They were sitting on Bobby and Marley's bed, with Jensine's head resting in Marley's lap. She wasn't sleeping, though, just staring up at the ceiling.

"When's Papa coming back?" she asked Marley.

Marley looked at Malles. "Soon," Malles told Jensine. "Just be patient."

"He needs to hurry," Jen said. "Our supper's getting cold."

Upon getting home Malles pulled Marley aside and told her the Horde was coming. Marley grabbed Jensine and took her into the master bedroom while Malles went around securing the house. He thought about barricading the door, but that would trap his father outside, something Malles was sure wasn't a good idea. He had no idea where his father was, or what was going on. Jensine didn't know either, for neither Marley nor Malles told her the town was under siege. Jensine was the kind of girl who would burst into tears over a bad hair day. Both Marley and Malles felt the news of an attacking army would terrify her.

Jensine knew something was happening, but wasn't sure what. She did know, however, that she didn't like being left in the dark. So she was very grumpy.

"I'm hungry."

"Hush, Jen." Marley looked at Malles. "Did you see anything coming back here?"

Malles shook his head. He did hear screams, though. "No."

Jensine sat up. "See what, Mama?"

"Hush, Jen." Marley stood up. "I'm going to get the food. We'll just eat in here tonight."

Jensine seemed excited about that. "You mean like a picnic?"

"Yes, a picnic." Marley turned away from them, but Malles could tell she was worried. "Malles, where's the axe?"

"By the door."

"Keep it with you at all times." Marley left to retrieve their dinner. "Oh, I wish your father would hurry up…"

* * *

Bobby was confused as all hell. Apart from the dead woman, he had not seen a single living thing in the streets. And there was still no sign of the orcs.

He was done with sneaking around. Bobby was walking out in the open. Night had already fallen, and the skies were clear. The streets were bathed in white moonlight. It would have been a beautiful night, if not for the dire situation.

"To arms! To arms!"

Bobby immediately broke into a sprint, following the call for battle. He rounded the corner and saw a group of militia charged straight into a crowd of…_people?_

Indeed, the militia men were hacking apart a crowd of other humans. Bobby could even recognize some of them. They were his loyal customers. Only they didn't quite look themselves. Their skin had gone gray and pale, and their nails were long and jagged. As Bobby watched, one of the gray people climbed over the top of one of his comrades and slashed a militiaman. The man dropped his sword and clenched his hands over his face as he screamed. A fireball soared past the man and hit his attacker square in the face, vaporizing him and burning another one of his friends. Bobby looked around and saw a robed man shouting out orders to the militia.

"Form up!"

The militia immediately backed away. Before their attackers could react the robed man launched another fireball into their midst. Flames engulfed them all. When the fires cleared, all that was left of them were blackened husks.

Bobby went to the robed man, who was obviously a mage. If the fire balls didn't give it away, the purple runes on his dark robe did. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Another volunteer. Good." The mage nodded at him. "Fall in with the rest, there's more undead out there."

Bobby's jaw dropped. "Undead?" The Horde had used undead against the Alliance in the Second War. Orcish death knights would go out after a victorious battle and raise the slain soldiers into undead monsters, who existed only to serve them. The death knights were the Horde's answer to the Alliance paladins, and they served their purpose all too well. Once Bobby had found himself alone on the battlefield fighting one. It had not been a pleasant experience.

"So the Horde is attacking, then?"

"Horde?" The mage looked at him. "You think the Horde is doing this?"

"They just appeared," a militiaman told Bobby. "They just appeared and started killing the townspeople."

"You fool!" Bobby motioned towards the husks. "Those _were_ townspeople!"

"No, citizen," the mage said. "They are victims of the recent plague that has been running rampant through the northlands."

"Plague?" Bobby stared at him in shock. "There actually is a plague? I thought that was just a rumor."

"It's not." The mage looked around. "I was sent by the Kirin Tor from Dalaran to investigate this plague. The archmages believe the plague is magical in nature." The mage sighed. "Unfortunately, they were right."

Bobby was finding this all difficult to accept. A plague that killed people by turning them into undead? Impossible. Undead were created by death knights and necromancers, not by disease. "I don't believe this."

"Believe what you wish," the mage said. "But the fact remains, the town is in danger. And we need all the help we can get. For whenever one of our men falls, the undead gain a new soldier."

Bobby couldn't deny the mages logic. He respectfully saluted. "So you are leading the resistance, then?"

"I noticed that the militia seemed a little unorganized. Someone had to take charge." The mage motioned down the street. "Quickly, men! We must drive them out of Hearthglen! Move out!"

The small group of fighters ran down the street. The undead were just milling around aimlessly. But when they spotted the militia they let out loud moans and bound towards them. Bobby's only weapon was his rifle, so he stayed back with the mage. He aimed and fired at one undead, and watched as the bullet ripped through its chest. But the undead didn't fall over, or even falter. It continued its rapid run towards him. But before it got to him it was hit by a small fireball, which ignited its dead skin and brought it down.

"You must aim for their heads if you wish to shoot them!" The mage yelled. "Otherwise the shot won't have any effect!"

Bobby saw one of the militiamen fall, an undead ripping out his throat. He ran up to the undead and beat it back with the butt of his rifle. A quick jab caved in its rotting face, killing it. Bobby shouldered his rifle and picked up the dead soldier's sword. He leapt into the fray, slicing at any undead within reach. A couple minutes later, the undead were actually dead.

They had lost some men, though. Bobby could see their fallen bodies among the undead. Theirs were the only ones that bled. The mage ignited the bodies with his magic, burning them away. "We must press on!" he yelled out. Undead moans echoed around them.

They just kept coming. Everywhere the militia went they found more. Undead were in every alley, behind every house, around every corner. They were even on the roof tops, as one unlucky soldier found out. Three undead dropped down on him from a nearby building. His comrades were not quick enough to save him. After that, Bobby brought back out his rifle and began watching the roofs. His shots did not do much damage to the undead, but the impact did knock them from their posts, putting them within reach of the militia.

But they were losing. More and more times the party found themselves surrounded, only to be saved by the mage's magic. Often Bobby would just barely avoid an outreached hand or a snapping jaw. It came as no surprise to him when they came to the city square and found a solid wall of undead blocking their path.

"This is impossible!" A man yelled.

"Hold your ground!" the mage called out. "They are all that stand between us and victory! Attack!"

The militia charged. A little under twenty men versus dozens of undead. The mage's fireballs killed three or four at a time, but the undead pressed them. Bobby himself saw man after man after man dragged to the ground and slaughtered. Soon the undead had circled around them, just six soldiers, Bobby, and the Kirin Tor mage.

Bobby refused to die. If he went down, then there would be no one to protect his family. He gripped his sword and hacked away, cutting down any undead in front of him. But his arms were getting tired. No amount of spirit could fight fatigue and muscle failure. All it would take was one slip, one opening, and the undead would be upon him.

Suddenly, they were gone. One minute Bobby was preparing to remove a reaching arm, the next minute all the undead were running hell bent for the town gates. Bobby wearily watched as the undead moved down the road and disappeared into the woods, more confused than relieved.

"That's it, men!" the mage cried. "We've driven them off!"

Bobby wasn't so sure. He was certain he had seen the "dead" woman from before among their ranks. But he had no better explanation for it, so he just sat on the ground. The mage went around and burned all the bodies, filling the air with the stink of burning flesh.

Bobby looked at him. He was fairly certain that the mage had just saved the entire town. "What do you call yourself, mage?"

The mage didn't look up. "My name is Rak," he said, "and you're welcome."


	5. Arrival of the Prince

Malles jerked awake. He immediately stood up and gazed out the window, cursing himself for sleeping. The axe lay next to him as he checked the deserted streets for any signs of danger. Earlier he had heard moans and seen flashes of orange light, but now it was all quiet. He went into the bedroom to check on his mother and sister. They were both asleep, lying next to assorted dinner plates and wooden utensils.

A knock on the door made him jump a mile. He grabbed the axe and ran to the door, pressing himself against the wall. "Who is it?"

"Malles, it's me."

Bobby's voice was music to his ears. Malles flung the door open and embraced his father. Relief flooded through him. It wasn't until then that he realized how scared he had been. Scared the house would be attacked, scared he would have to fight, and scared his father wouldn't make it back. But now that Bobby was here everything would be okay.

Bobby returned the hug. "How are they doing?"

Malles stepped back. "They're asleep."

Bobby stepped through the door and closed it. He locked it behind him. "Go wake them up. Bring them out to the kitchen."

Malles went back into the bedroom and lightly shook Jen. She slowly opened her eyes and looked at him. Her piercing green eyes regarded him wearily. "Five more minutes."

"Jenny Jen." Malles smiled at her. "Dad's home."

Jensine rubbed her eyes and sat up. "Where is he?"

"The kitchen," Malles told her. He took her hand and guided her off the bed. "He wants to see you."

"Okay." Jensine yawned and walked out of the room. Malles roused his mother and followed her. They found Bobby sitting at the head of the table, hugging Jensine. Despite Jensine's rather annoying habits and personality, Malles cared for her deeply. She was still a teenager, young and innocent. Light willing she'd get through the night without anything damaging that. Marley kissed her husband's cheek and took the seat next to him, while Malles stood.

Bobby got straight to the point. "Hearthglen is under attack."

Jensine looked up. "What?"

Malles winced. So much for childhood innocence. "The Horde –"

Bobby cut him off. "No. Not the Horde."

Malles was confused. "Who, then? Bandits?"

Bobby shook his head. "I won't say who or what. All you need to know is that there is an enemy laying siege to the town."

Marley looked shock. "But why Hearthglen? We have nothing of value. We're just simple peasants, why not Andorhal or Stratholme?"

"I don't know," said Bobby. "But I do know the attack isn't over."

Malles did not like this one bit. Neither did Jensine. She didn't say anything, though, just snuggled closer to her father. That was unheard of for her; once Jensine had something to say, she said it. "So what are we going to do?" Malles asked.

"You all will stay here. I'm going to help the militia." Bobby's face was emotionless. "Malles, you have your bow, correct?"

Malles nodded. "I'm going to need my axe," Bobby told him. "Get your bow and stay here with your mother and sister. I'm heading out."

"No!" Jensine gripped her father's shirt. "Papa, stay. Please?"

Bobby kissed the top of her head. He picked her up, hugged her, and put her on the ground. "I'll be right back, Jen. I promise."

There was a loud knocking on the door. Malles glanced at it frantically, but Bobby remained calm. The undead wouldn't knock. He went to the door and opened it. "Yes?"

There was a short man holding a bulging bag over his shoulder. "Archmage Rak has spoken with Governor Fordring. On the governor's orders, all bread from the granary has been requisitioned to be distributed amongst the villagers for the duration of the siege." The man reached into his bag and withdrew three loaves of bread. "For your family, sir."

Bobby took the loaves and nodded. Apparently Rak shared Bobby's thoughts. It was a good idea, since no one knew how long this siege would last. "Thank you." Bobby closed the door and went back to his family. He placed the bread on the table. "Marley, have you eaten?"

Marley nodded. "But we saved you some meat. You can take it with you." She took the bread. "I'll store these somewhere safe."

Bobby hugged Jensine once more, then kissed Marley. And with a nod at Malles, Bobby retrieved his hatchet and left.

* * *

About twenty minutes later, Bobby was positioned outside the town gates, axe in hand and rifle over his shoulder. A pouch of ammo was tied to his belt. Across the road from him stood another guard, recruited from the local population. The militiamen who had fled during the initial attack were tracked down and ordered back to the town wall.

Wall, they called it. It was little more than a pile of wood marking the town boundaries. This wall wouldn't stop a small child, let alone an army of undead. Bobby knew a losing battle when he saw one, and this one was a doozy.

_We are so fucked._

There was a small pop as Rak blinked into existence between them. "All quiet, then?"

Bobby's partner, named Carroc, nodded. "Nothing to report."

Rak looked from him to Bobby. "You two have rations?"

Bobby pointed to a small knapsack on the ground behind him. Inside were a hunk of dried meat and a loaf of bread. "Rak, is there any way we could get help from anyone? Andorhal is only a day's run down the hill, and Stratholme actually has a trained militia."

Rak shook his head. "The woods will be crawling with undead. And we cannot spare any men for runners."

"But, you're a mage," Carroc said. "Couldn't you just teleport somewhere and bring back an army?"

Rak clapped him on the shoulder. "I have already sent word to Andorhal telling them to send all the fighters they can muster." He smiled. "Everything is taken care of."

Bobby was looking down the road. At first, he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. But once he figured it out, he look in a deep breath and yelled out a warning. "Make way for the King's men!"

Rak jumped in shock. He followed Bobby's gaze and stared at the banner fluttering in the night breeze. Behind the banner marched about thirty men in columns of three. In front of it marched an armored soldier, a robed woman, and...

"Make way for Prince Arthas Menethil!"

Bobby was smiling. Everything would work out now. Somehow, the capital city knew about their plight. Obviously Andorhal contacted them. And Prince Arthas himself had answered the call. Everyone knew Arthas. He was the only son of King Terenas, and a powerful paladin of the Silver Hand. Arthas and his troops had recently slaughtered a rampaging band of Blackrock orcs. An undead outbreak would mean nothing to his trained and experienced soldiers.

Rak was also grinning. "Take a seat, men. Eat a bite of bread, you must be starving. I will go rally our troops." He muttered as he cast another blinking spell, and in a flash of blue light he was gone.

Bobby and Carroc stood as Arthas and his men marched towards them. When they came to the gate Arthas raised a fist into the air, signaling a halt. Bobby bowed low. "Prince Arthas. We're glad you answered our call."

Arthas did not look like the strong blond-haired man Bobby knew. In fact, Arthas was looking a little haggard. He was decked in plate armor, with a war hammer strapped across his back, but his face was drenched in sweat. The woman next to him had dark circles around her eyes. Both of them were covered in dirt from the road. "Call?" Arthas looked at him in surprise. "I was summoned?"

Carroc began digging into his own knapsack. "Yes, milord," Bobby told him. "We sent out a call for aid to Andorhal barely minutes ago. Did they not summon you?"

"Andorhal?" the woman said.

Something about this wasn't right. "Prince Arthas. During the night, a group of undead attacked our town. We drove them back into the forest, but now we think they might be coming back."

"Damn!" Arthas turned to the woman next to him. "Jaina, go back to Lordaeron and tell Lord Uther what has happened."

_Lord Uther?_ But surely Arthas and his men could handle such a small group of undead. Carroc looked at Bobby in confusion as he bit into his bread. The woman next to Arthas muttered something, and like Rak disappeared in a flash of blue light.

"Soldier." Bobby straightened as Arthas addressed him. "Take me to your watch commander."

"He was slain during the first attack, my Prince." Bobby motioned behind him. "There is a Kirin Tor mage directing our defenses. I can take you to him."

Arthas nodded and turned to the soldier behind him. "Falric, I'll leave you in charge of positioning the men. Make sure they have plenty of water in their skins, and try and get them some food."

The man saluted and began shouting orders. Arthas turned back to Bobby and followed him into the town square. Bobby began looking around for Rak, unsure of how to find him. Arthas gazed around at the men and their shoddy armor and weapons. "You are ill-prepared for a fight."

Bobby nodded. "Most of our militia is untrained. But now that you're here, we should have no problem."

"I'm not so sure of that." Before Bobby could ask what he meant, Arthas stopped. His eyes were wide. "Soldier, what did those crates contain?"

Bobby followed his gaze. Arthas was staring at a pile of empty wooden boxes. "Just bread from our local granary. There's no need to worry, milord. We've already distributed it amongst the townspeople."

Arthas was looking pale. Bobby couldn't understand why the prince would be acting like this. Surely bread wasn't that big of a deal. But apparently it was, because Arthas was still looking at the crates. "Where did you get the grain for the bread?"

Bobby gave him a quizzical look. "Most of our shipments come from Andorhal." He raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem, Prince Arthas?"

"Defend yourselves!"

Bobby's axe was up and ready at the yell for battle. He looked around for danger, and found it almost immediately. A group of undead were charging the gates…from the inside. They swarmed over the surprised defenders and tore into them.

_How?_

Arthas was moving already. His hammer swung around and knocked aside three undead at once. It glowed with Light as Arthas attacked, a frantic look upon his face. Bobby and several other men ran to join him. Fortunately, there were only six of the monsters, and together they quickly eliminated the undead.

Bobby was bewildered. How did the undead get through? There were only two gates into town, both of which were guarded. And they couldn't have gotten through the wall without punching a hole in it.

"Don't eat the bread!"

Arthas and his men were running around, snatching food away from the militia. "The bread is contaminated!" Arthas yelled. "Do not eat the bread!"

Bobby looked at Arthas like he had just sprouted a second head. His gaze went from the prince to the piled of undead bodies, confused. Then Bobby spotted a familiar face staring blankly in his direction. It was Carroc. Only then did it click.

It all made sense. How the undead literally appeared overnight, right in the middle of town. And how they did it again, just now. The bread did this. It was the bread that made the townspeople die and raised them again into cannibalistic monsters.

Bobby's eyes widened in horror. Did he not just put that same bread in his family's house?

Bobby had never run so fast in his life. But he only got three feet before there was a flash of blue light and he hit something soft. Rak was knocked to the ground, where he lay groaning. "Rak!" Bobby yelled. "You have to get the bread recalled. That plague you were talking about, it's in the bread!"

Rak climbed to his feet. "I know! I'm handling it!"

Bobby was about to move past him when there was a great flash of light. It blinded him momentarily, but he could hear Rak scream and a loud crunching sound. When his vision cleared he saw Rak bleeding on the ground a good ten feet away. Arthas was standing over him, hammer drawn and glowing.

"Necromancer," Arthas spat. "You had a hand in this, didn't you?"

"Prince Arthas!" Bobby ran up to him and tried to pull the man away. But Arthas' men got to Bobby and pushed him away from Arthas. "You just killed our leader! That was the mage I told you about!"

"No…" Rak's chest was caved in. He laughed, coughing up blood as he did so. "The prince is…right."

Bobby was witnessing more kinds of crazy this night than he had during the entire Second War. "What?"

Rak laughed again. "I…brought the plague here myself….from Andorhal."

"Andorhal is nothing but a burned-out shell," Arthas growled, "festering with decay and disease. A group of necromancers calling themselves the Cult of the Damned has caused this plague. They've raised an army of undead and are using it to terrorize the countryside." He glared down at Rak. "But I killed your leader, cultist. And my men have routed his army from Andorhal."

Rak laughed again, dribbling blood down his chin. "Kel'thuzad was…a pawn. The real master calls to me…"

His body suddenly glowed black. Arthas reacted quickly, stepping back away from Rak. But Rak was suddenly up and moving, actually sprinting like mad towards the food Arthas had confiscated. Before anyone could stop him Rak pulled a hunk of bread from the pile and swallowed a large bite of it.

The result was instantaneous. The black glow suddenly expanded outward, followed by flashing blue sparks of magic. Every man in the vicinity retreated, weapons drawn. Bobby's axe was in his hands, but he felt no compulsion to use it. Fear gripped him like a vice as a wave of cold washed over him. When the light faded, Rak was no more. In his place, wearing identical robes, stood a skeleton. The skeleton glowed blue, it's light mixing in with the light coming from the purple runes on its robe.

"Rak is no more!" the monster yelled. "I am…COLDSKULL!"

Arthas' hammer flew through the air, glowing bright with the Light. But Coldskull raised his hand, and a wall of ice sprung from the ground and deflected it. "Yes! I am a god!" Coldskull roared.

Bobby had heard of these undead spellcasters only in legends and stories. He had written them off as fantasy, but this night had unleashed all kinds of things that shouldn't be real.

_Lich…_

The lich cackled. "You are mistaken, Prince Arthas. The troops you killed in Andorhal were but a fraction of our real fighting force. There are hundreds of undead at our beck and call, and we gain more every night!" Coldskull grinned at them. "The Master commands me to destroy this town. My army awaits me. Abandon hope, feeble humans, for the fall of Lordaeron begins today!"

In another flash of blue light, Coldskull disappeared. Almost immediately, the moans of the dead echoed around them. Screams from behind Bobby told him other townspeople had been converted. Arthas began barking out orders, directing the remaining troops for the coming assault.


	6. All The King's Men

Malles glanced out the window. Most of what he saw was darkness. Since the city was under attack, no one was around to light the lampposts lining the streets and roads. Malles couldn't understand that. If his town were under assault, he'd make sure everything was well lit, so the defenders could see where they were going.

Then again, the darkness meant that the enemy could not see what they were doing, either. What Malles was seeing as shoddy planning could in fact be a brilliant ruse.

_Whatever works, I guess._

He laid his bow and quiver next to the window and went to check on his mother and sister for the umpteenth time. Marley, intending to wait through the night for her husband's return, had fallen asleep. She was seated in a chair in the master bedroom, head leaning against the wall and loosely holding a small family portrait in her lap.

Jensine, however, was wide awake. She was on her knees in another chair. Jensine was short for her age, so in order to see out of the high window she had pulled over a chair to boost herself with. When she noticed Malles she got off the chair and looked at him. "I told you to stay away from the windows," Malles said.

Jen looked at him. "I wanted to see Papa."

Malles sat on the bed. Jen mimicked him and slid next to her brother, laying her head on his shoulder. Malles threw his arm around her. "It'll be alright, Jenny."

Jensine was drawing patterns on Malles' thigh. "Papa looked really worried, though. Like when Mama got sick."

Malles looked down at her. Their eyes locked, and Malles found himself sinking into her bright green eyes. They were watering slightly. Jen whispered into his ear. "I'm scared."

Malles squeezed her tight. "I know."

* * *

Bobby swung his axe and cleaved the ghoul in two. It was almost immediately replaced by another. Bobby hacked away at that one was well, cutting the unfortunate soul into three pieces.

With the betrayal of Rak, Prince Arthas and his men had taken charge of defending Hearthglen. Towers were hastily constructed behind and around some of the outlying farms, but the undead had attacked while they were being converted into suitable guard towers. A group of men had been pulled away from the main town to defend them but another group of undead had attacked the northwestern corner of the wall. Arthas and the king's men were beating them back, but they just kept coming.

There were far more undead than the group Bobby had seen leave town barely hours before. Hours? It felt like several darkened days. All Bobby remembered was swinging his axe into his former neighbors and customers, wishing he could be with his family. The family he had locked inside a house with bread made from diseased grain that could turn them into the very monsters he was now killing.

Bobby gritted his teeth as he turned to face a new wave of undead. But this wave was different. They had brought out some sort of artillery. Only instead of firing mortars, it was firing…bodies. Bodies green with mold and obviously festering with disease. Bobby covered his face with a dirty cloth to avoid breathing in the mess and went on the offensive. His axe went through zombie after zombie until he had reached the infernal contraption. Strangely, there was no one manning it as it fired corpses into the men behind him. But that just made it easier to cleave through the main firing arm, disabling the catapult.

Behind him the ghouls were wiped out. Arthas had appointed some of his own soldiers to lead the undertrained militia. Their leader, a man named Searcy, rallied the militia back to him. "Began fortifying those towers!" he yelled. "We'll need archers and rifleman up above the Scourge if we want to win this battle!"

It was a good idea. There were plenty of building materials around them, and with a squad of fighters defending those towers the ranged defenders could do enough damage to effectively stop the undead from advancing past this point. Bobby began gathering rubble from the destroyed farmhouse and ran to where other workers were setting a foundation.

Standing amidst the rubble was a bearded man holding a pitchfork. He looked around at the ruins of his farmhouse, then at the still-standing tower. He started yelling angrily, not at the approaching swarm of undead, but at Searcy."Stupid Alliance army!" he screamed. "Just had to build your tower right behind my farm, didn't you!"

"Topper," Bobby growled, "Shut up and help."

* * *

Malles and Jensine both jerked in surprise as there was a loud hammering at the door. Malles shoved Jen aside and ran for the bedroom door, only pausing to grab his bow and nock and arrow. The moment he was gone Jensine was back at the window, trying to see who was at the door.

"Help!" It was a woman. Her high-pitched shrieks were somewhat muffled by the thick wooden door, but that did not make it any less obvious to Malles that this lady needed his help. But instead of opening the door he immediately dropped the bow and arrow and ran into the kitchen to grab a long, sharp butcher's knife. All the while the woman banged away at the door, still screaming for help. Malles was at the door latch in an instant, quickly undoing it and turning the door handle.

The woman let out one ear-piercing scream before something heavy slammed into the door, hitting it hard enough to nearly push it open. But Malles was able to set his feet enough so the door was only cracked open. The moment the opening formed a hand shot through it, the woman's hand, flailing about as she tried desperately to grab on to something to pull herself through. She found Malles' wrist, and immediately clamped her hand around it. And while all this was going on, she screamed and screamed and screamed.

Malles felt his bare hand being covered in something wet and sticky. He yelled out as he saw blood run down the woman's wrist and onto his own. With a sudden tug Malles felt himself pulled forward, pressing against the door as it slammed into the door frame. The moment Malles felt it shut he secured the latch and jumped away from the door, brandishing his knife. Out on the street he heard the women screech one last time, a scream that was silenced by a loud gurgling roar that made the door vibrate.

There was another scream behind him. Long, loud, and piercing, like those of the unfortunate lady outside. Malles whirled around and saw Jensine, standing in the kitchen and staring at the door, wide-eyed and screaming. He ran to her and embraced her, hugging her close and clamping a hand over her mouth. She buried her face into his shoulder. As Malles turned her away from the door he could see the blood covering the floor underneath it, spilling out from the women's severed hand. Revolted, he felt bile rise up in his throat and strained to keep from throwing up.

Jensine began screaming for her father, making herself clearly heard even through his hand. As something else hit the door and more horrified yells sounded from outside, Malles found himself agreeing with her. He pulled Jensine with him into the bedroom. Marley, awakened by Jensine's screech, gasped when she saw Malles covered in blood.

"What happened?" she asked. "Malles, what's going on?"

Malles shook his head. He had about as many answers as she did. He ran to the window and threw the curtains inward, blocking their view of the outside. Malles wasn't even sure if he wanted to know what was out there.

Whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn't orcs.

* * *

The towers were built. Barricades were constructed. The men were armed and ready, set to lay down their lives in defense of their home and fellow humans. And the undead kept coming, more than ready to tear those defenders limb from limb.

Bobby's arms were growing tired. His world was rotting cadavers and yelling soldiers. The undead poured over the barricades. They piled against the walls and climbed over each other to get at the human meat behind it. They were aided by actual humans, wearing similar robes to the set Rak had worn, runes glowing faintly as they cast their necromancy on the dead bodies of the defenders. It pained Bobby every time he recognized an enemy face. This man had bought a hammer from him. That man had died next to him not minutes ago.

A mighty roar pierced the night air as a lumbering monstrosity charged from the back of the undead ranks. Huge and bloated, and at least ten feet tall, the monster was covered in stitches as big and long as Bobby's forearm, with three arms, one of which jutted over its shoulder wildly swinging a rusty broadsword. In its main hands were two large butcher cleavers. The abomination slapped aside the ghouls before it and kicked the makeshift wall, blowing clean through it.

"Breach!" Bobby yelled. "Breach!"

Like magic a knight of Lordaeron appeared next to him. The man took one look at the monster and whistled loudly. A Lordaeron riflemen, a dwarf, ran up and ducked his head, using his small form to barrel through and under the legs of the ghouls. He disappeared into the crowd for a moment, then reappeared next to the abomination. In his hand was a grenade. The rifleman cocked his arm back and threw it, straight into an open stitch in the abomination's side, and dove to the ground. The grenade went off, blasting the monster in half and knocking it back over the wall, straight on top of a group of necromancers.

But the damage had been done. The ghouls swarmed through the hole like angry bees emerging from a hive. And from behind them Bobby could hear the cackling laugh of the lich, Coldskull.

For the past several minutes Malles had been trying to ignore the howls and screams he heard coming from outside. When the noises had started Marley had grabbed Jensine and hugged her close, covering her ears with her hands. Occasionally something heavy would hit the side of the house, usually followed by more shouting and a couple moans and snarls. It sounded like there were wild animals outside.

It sounded like they were feeding.

It seemed hard to believe that earlier that afternoon he had been playing a child's game, a game of good triumphing over evil. When he was younger he would often sit at his father's feet and pester him for stories about the Second War, about how the paladins of the Silver Hand had driven the orcs back through the Dark Portal and into whatever hell they came from. Sometimes Bobby would entertain his son, but he mostly just got annoyed and gave Malles a quick swat before giving him chores to do. Until today, Malles had never understood why his father had refused to share his experiences with him.

There was another loud crash from the front of the house. This one, however, was much louder than the others, and punctured somewhat by the clatter of splintered wood hitting the kitchen floor and the screech of rusted metal bending. Something had busted down the front door. Malles was up in a flash, running to the bedroom door and slamming it shut. There was a deadbolt near the top of the door. He fumbled with the latch and locked it into place. Only then did he realize he had left his bow by the front door.

Jensine burrowed deeper into her mother's arms, while Marley just stared at Malles. She was pale, but calm. Still thinking clearly, something Malles was barely managing to do. "What was that?" she mouthed.

Malles shook his head, jumping slightly as he heard footsteps moving through the kitchen. Soft groans came through the door as whatever had broken in did whatever it had broken in to do. Or prepared to. Malles felt he would learn the secret of flight before he figured out what the hell was going on tonight. He carefully crept towards Marley, but she pointed emphatically at the door. "Go see," she mouthed again.

Malles shook his head. Yesterday he would have pictured himself being brave and courageous in a battle. Today he was scared out of his wits. No way was he opening that door. Not until Bobby got back. If he got back.

Marley pointed towards a wall to her right. Set into the wall was a small fireplace, complete with a couple of logs and a tall basket full of pokers. And inside the basket was Bobby's hunting rifle. The rifle was dwarven made, as all good firearms were, with an oak stock and a mithril barrel. It had been issued out to Bobby when he enlisted, but somehow he was able to keep it and had used it to hunt ever since. Next to it was a box of shot and a small jar of blasting powder, a location Marley swore up and down would bring about the end of them all.

Malles looked at it like it was water and he was in the desert. He made sure the door was securely latched before he took his weight off if it and began stepping quietly towards the rifle. He knew how to load and shoot it; he'd seen his father use it often enough. After fumbling clumsily with the ammunition and spilling powder everywhere, Malles found himself holding a deadly weapon in his hands. Marley smiled at him as he went back to the door. The sight bolstered his resolve. He reached up and unlatched the door. It creaked softly as he opened it, sounding all too much like the woman who had left her hand inside their front door.

The house beyond was dark and gloomy, lit only by a flickering red light shining from a nearby window. _Damn. Someone's house is on fire._ Now Malles was forced to find out what was prowling through his house, and make sure it wasn't a threat so he could get Marley and Jensine out and away from the fire. He knew how fast a fire could spread. The Mikkal's neighbor's cat once knocked over a lantern, and the resulting inferno had taken out a third of the town.

There was a loud clattering sound from the kitchen. Something had knocked something over, possibly the stack of dirty dishes from dinner. Malles propped the rifle against his shoulder, but it was heavy, and he didn't keep it there for long. Like he was stalking a deer, he crouched slightly and did a quick run down the short hallway to the doorway leading to the kitchen. He propped up the rifle again, took a deep breath, and peeked around the wall.

Staring right back at Malles was the ugliest, dirtiest, and smelliest man he had ever had the misfortune to encounter. His skin was pale, his fingernails were almost as long as his fingers, and his eyes had a sick, yellow color in them. He moaned and stretched his arms towards Malles. Malles had never liked the idea of killing another human, but this man was so sickening to look at Malles fired off the rifle before he even realized he was aiming. The round hit the man in the stomach, folding him in half and sending him flying against the kitchen cabinets. Malles stood, confidant the man was dead, but the moment he hit the ground the man dropped on all fours and raced at Malles, actually roaring and stretching his mouth open to bite him.

Malles swung the rifle like a club, which saved his life. The jaws snapped shut just past his left ear, but the undead's weight drove him to the floor. Malles pushed against the man, trying to shove him off. The man was going berserk, pushing back against the rifle and snapping wildly at Malles' face. Malles got a good long look at his jagged teeth, and winced as he felt drool drip on his face.

But the worst was yet to come. To his left he heard his mother yell his name, and at that exact moment the man was off of him and running down the hall at Marley. Malles rolled to his feet, already knowing he was too late, that all he would be able to do was to watch his mother be torn apart –

He yelled out as a white flash filled the hall, blinding him. Malles dropped the rifle and clamped his hands over his eyes, seeing nothing but angry red dots through his eyelids. Everything was a blur. He could only hear. Hear his mother scream louder, hear the angry snarling of the dirty man, smell the sickening smell of burning flesh. He knew that smell. His father had once burned his hand badly while smelting a hammer. If a priest hadn't been staying at the Rooster at the time, Bobby would have lost his hand, and his job. It was the worst thing Malles had ever smelled, and believe he would ever smell.

Finally, his vision cleared. But he kept his eyes closed, dreading what he would find if he opened them. The house was eerily quiet. Quiet like a tomb. The analogy did not help reassure him in the slightest. But eventually he did open his eyes. Of the crazy man, there was no sign. Marley was sitting just outside her and Bobby's room, holding Jensine in her arms. Malles rushed to them, afraid Jen might have been hurt. But there wasn't a mark on either her or Marley. In fact…Jen was glowing.

"What – "

"Jensine!" Marley went to check on her daughter as Jensine collapsed against the wall. She smiled faintly. Malles hesitated for a moment, then ran to her side. He threw Jen's arm around his shoulders and lifted her to her feet."

"Mom, the houses are burning, we need to go!"

* * *

They were beaten.

The defenders of Hearthglen were literally engaged in a fighting retreat. The undead wave had hit the wall hard, of course, but still proved to be manageable. But then they were suddenly attacked from behind. In the haste of battle, Arthas had forgotten that though the town guards were safely deprived of bread, the civilians in their homes still had their loaves. And many, many a housewife knew of the calming effect full bellies had on frightened children and nervous husbands.

Bobby only remembered turning around to find the rotten half-eaten corpse of a four year old boy trying to gnaw through his leather shin guards. It had all gone downhill from there. Lordaeron soldiers and Hearthglen guards alike were surrounded on all sides. Bobby fought on, no longer seeking to save the town, but to get to his family and escape this hell. He would plow a hole through the ring of undead around them, and flee with his wife and children to Stratholme or Darrowshire. A plan that he knew had absolutely no chance of succeeding. He feared that the next undead face he saw would be Jensine, or Marley, or Malles…

"Light! Give me strength!"

The undead before him was briefly illuminated as behind him Arthas cut loose with holy magic. Burning bolts of Light struck the zombies around them, sometimes blasting through them and hitting the undead further back. Close to a couple hundred undead were taken down by a single spell. Bobby stopped to look at the carnage. The Lordaeron soldiers cheered and rained praises down on the prince as he dropped to a knee to catch his breath.

"Nicely done. My turn."

From the sky dropped a giant icicle, shattering as it landed on one poor, unfortunate dwarf. The ice shards drove themselves directly into whatever exposed flesh they could find. Bobby could only watch as an elven priest died in the midst of casting a spell of healing on himself. A loud cackle filled the air. Bobby whirled around and there was Rak Coldskull, perched up on the ruins of the outer wall.

His hand's glowed as he launched bolts of ice on the men, dwarves, and elves under him. And from around him streamed even more undead. And not just ghouls. Bobby saw more of the kind of…_things_ that had knocked down the wall to begin with. Backing them up were more cultists, wearing the same robes as Rak.

A strange fury gripped Bobby at that moment. This was the mage who had destroyed his home, who had attacked the kingdom Bobby had fought so hard to defend in the past. Whatever happened tonight, Bobby would make sure of one thing. The lich would die before morning.

"TO ME!"

Several ran with him as Bobby charged the necromancers. They never saw him coming, so Bobby was able to cleave straight through one before they became aware of him and his group. But they were ready. Balls of dark magic sailed into them. Bobby ducked under one and cringed as the man behind him screamed. Bobby lashed out and cut the legs out from under another spellcaster.

One of Bobby's new friends vaulted over his crouched form and scissor-kicked another necromancer away from him. The young woman was holding a spear that glowed like Arthas' hammer, white with Light as she impaled a third necromancer through the chest. The necromancer screamed as the Light entered him and rolled off the spear, clutching at a burning wound.

Another paladin, obviously from Arthas' group. Bobby climbed to his feet and took out a necromancer behind her. The woman turned, saw him, and grinned. "Thanks!"

A ball of ice slammed into her body, sending her rolling away. Bobby leaped aside as Coldskull aimed for him, barely dodging the spell. The paladin took a running jump at the lich, spear aimed right at this head. Coldskull caught the weapon in mid-strike and held it and its wielder off the ground. A long streak of frost went right up the weapon and froze it to the woman's palms. She shrieked in pain and kicked out at Coldskull. The lich laughed and dropped her. She rolled to her feet a small distance away, grimacing as she held the spear awkwardly at her side.

_We're done,_ Bobby thought. He set himself into a fighter's stance and prepared to die.

"For Lordaeron! For the King!"

A wall of human cavalry appeared from nowhere and slammed into the undead army. The knights kept right going through, trampling and goring the monsters on spears and lances. At their head rode a grizzled old man wielding a mace nearly as big as he was. The mace glowed white-hot as he laid waste to any undead in reach. Bobby recognized him at once. Every veteran of the Second War knew Uther the Lightbringer.

Uther was unstoppable. The paladin spotted Coldskull and wheeled his charger and knights around to engage him. But another wave of ghouls attacked them, pulling knights from their mounts and stalling Uther. Bobby yelled out and went to join them, but suddenly Coldskull appeared in front of him.

Bobby didn't hesitate. His hatchet went up through Coldskull's cloak and cleaved through two of his ribs. The lich screamed and slapped Bobby away. The paladin began chanting, trying to free her hands and get back into the fight to help him. But Bobby knew he was on his own. Just like with the death knight. Bobby roared and charged at the lich, coming from the right side this time. But Coldskull slapped the axe away and gripped Bobby around the neck.

Cold. The deepest chill any human being could feel burned through Bobby's body. Bobby stared into Coldskull's grinning face as the female paladin screamed…


	7. Shattered Innocence

The sun rose over a shattered town.

Hearthglen, once a quiet little village in northern Lordaeron, was in shambles. The outer wall, once a seven foot tall wooden structure, was now just a pile of twigs in some places. Outside were the shambles of hastily constructed guard towers, little more than piles of wood and masonry for two or three riflemen to stand on. A fire ravaged the interior buildings, a fire that had started at the Rooster and spread while the soldiers of Arthas and the town militiamen defended themselves against a couple thousand undead.

But the fires were being kept in check. The woman who had accompanied Arthas when he first arrived, absent during the battle because she was summoning Uther's knights from Lordaeron, was directing a fire fighting team and using conjured water elementals to put out the flames. Jensine had pointed her out to Malles and babbled excitedly about the young Lady Proudmore, but Malles barely paid attention to her. His eyes were on a giant, blond-haired man in blue armor gazing down at a fallen Lordaeron soldier.

"Jensine, shut up a minute."

"But it's Jaina freaking – "

"Go get an autograph, then." Malles shoved her away and begin walking towards the man. Jensine followed him.

"Where's Mama?"

"Dunno. Go find her."

Jensine scowled at him. Marley had left them upon seeing the Lordaeron army to find Bobby. Malles was supposed to be watching Jensine, but that was the last thing he wanted to do now. Malles wanted answers. Malles wanted to know what had happened to his home, why his village was burning down all around him, why he had seen his neighbors and their _children_ torn apart in the streets by undead monsters. That's what they were. Undead. Ghouls. Zombies. Not orcs. Not the green-skinned marauders from the mountains Malles had been conditioned from birth to know, fear, and hate. But most of all, Malles wanted to know where his father was and why the hell he wasn't here to answer all these questions.

"Hey!"

The big man turned to address the young teen glaring at him. Malles was pleased to see that even at seventeen he was eye-level with one of the soldiers of Lordaeron. Malles glared at him. "Tell me what happened here."

To his surprised, the other man shoved him. Hard. Malles stumbled backwards and fell on his butt. He was up in an instant and throwing a punch right for the man's skull before a powerful arm grabbed his wrist and pulled him away. Malles turned around to find himself face to face with one of the most famous people in the kingdom.

"Stand down," Uther muttered.

Malles bowed his head as Uther let him go. Uther turned to address the other man. "You're a lucky man, Prince Arthas. If we hadn't arrived when we did – "

Arthas cut him off. "Damn it Uther, if I'd had an army of knights riding at my back when I first came here - !"

"HEY!"

Both men turned to look at Malles. Malles didn't budge an inch this time. "Where is my father?"

Arthas turned away as Uther clapped Malles on the shoulder. "I'm sure he's around, son. What is his name? I can help you look."

"Robert Mikkal."

"Malles…"

His name was spoken softly. But Malles recognized the voice and picked up on the tone. He turned around to find his mother standing behind him, holding Jensine close. Both of them had tears in their eyes.

Malles blinked. "What?"

Jensine buried her face into Marley's shoulder. Malles stood in the street numbly as Lord Uther led Prince Arthas away. Marley moved forward to hug him as Malles watched the sun rise over the hill behind her.

Today, Malles turned eighteen and became a man.

A day his father would never see.


End file.
